


They're Hands.

by DrunkSoup (Muqington)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Hawke, Awkwardness, Confused Fenris, M/M, POV Second Person, Potential Triggers After Chapter One
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muqington/pseuds/DrunkSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just. I’m. We’re…” You raise your hands up a little as you talk, as if trying to reach for the words you want. His gaze moves down. He looks at your hands. You look down at them too. Another few seconds are spent looking at your hands. They’re hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Hands.

He doesn’t look right at you when you apologise. He’s stumbling over words and staring at what you assume is your chest, a hand glued to the side of his neck awkwardly. Eventually you both are kinda silent for a while, and he shifts slightly like he wants to get around you. But he doesn’t make the effort to tell you “pardon me” or even leave. He just sorta stands there awkwardly, avoiding looking at your face at all costs.  


Just the same as always, though this time you can feel your pulse racing. You want to say something. You want to tell him you find it… attractive… that he was able to get up, nearly on top of the table, to argue for an hour straight how there should be free education. It makes you want to know more about him. Like why, for example, he’s so passionate about that. You want to know why he’s so quiet. Ask about how he grew up. Why he goes by Fenris. What those tattoos on his neck and chin are from. Do they litter the rest of his body? They’re on his hands. What about his feet? His chest? His hips?

When he coughs into his fist, you realize you’re staring.

You apologise for the second time within ten minutes.

“I, uh.” You clear your throat. He shifts his feet and turns his head. He looks like he has somewhere to be. You, on the other hand, don’t have another class until… Well… tomorrow. Why are you even in the library anyways? You should have come up with an excuse before you followed the boy. Sure, you wanted to talk to him and actually figure him out, but now that you have the chance, you’re lost at what to say.

“Did you need anything?” He finally looks up a little, but it’s not at your face. He looks off in the distance, avoiding your gaze. Does he ever look people in the eye? Another question.

“It’s just. I’m. We’re…” You raise your hands up a little as you talk, as if trying to reach for the words you want. His gaze moves down. He looks at your hands. You look down at them too. Another few seconds are spent looking at your hands. They’re hands.

“We’re…?” He slowly raises his head. You think maybe he’s looking at you. Or your chest again. Yeah. You’re chest. He swallows like he’s uncomfortable. You think you’re sweating. Oh boy.

“Our. Contemporary Literature class.” Your words feel forced. You’re nervous. It’s obvious. You wonder if he thinks you’re an idiot. You’re not usually this flustered over nothing. Does your face feel hot? Your face feels hot. You should tell him nevermind. You should leave.

“...What about it?” He talks slowly. Theres a look of uncertainty on his face. He looks down at your hands again. You drop them. He looks back up at you. The look of uncertainty grows. Dammit Hawke, would you just talk? This guy’s going to think you’re an imbecile.

“It’s just. I.” You bring your hands up again. You drop them back at your sides. They’re hands. You have hands. Most people, in fact, have hands. You don’t understand why you keep trying to make that obvious. They’re. Fucking. Hands.

“Do you need a tutor?” He asks it almost hesitantly, and everything about it is awkward sounding. You’re making this too awkward. He can feel it. You know it. You want to abort the mission. Wait. Hold on. He’s got this look. Pull it together Hawke.

“No! No. Not. Not that.” You can see him shake his head and glance up. You meet eyes for a millisecond. He immediately drops his head and turns it to the side. He shuffles his feet. He’s uncomfortable. You end up staring again, hands half raised. He turns to look at your chest again. He looks like he wants to question you, but somethings holding him back. How much of his time have you wasted? “I mean. Today. In class. Shit I-”

“ _Hawke_ , if you’re going to say something just say it. What you’re going to say, I’ve probably heard it before.” He slumps his shoulders, not that they weren’t to start, and he turns them a bit away like he wants to escape. He looks. Hurt? Or… Disappointed? 

“Wait, you know my name?” You raise your hands a little more, faster than you had before. He catches it out of the corner of his eye. He flinches. Hard. You draw your hands back immediately. You step back half a step. He stares at you now. Well. He stares at your hands. You hold them up a little to show you weren’t going to do anything. What was that even about?

“You’re constantly called out in class. Of course I know your name.” Everything he says sounds forced now. Maybe an underlying tone of something else. You don’t know what. You aren’t a psychologist. 

“Oh.” You let your hands down at your side. You take a breath.

“Well?” You actually barely here that. He sounds too forced to say it. He almost looks trapped. You should. Probably just say what you came here to say already.

“In class today, the debate. You were.” You fight to find the word, glancing up at the top of a bookshelf. Right. You’re at the library.

“Obnoxious.” It’s barely a whisper. When you look down, he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s staring at the ground a few feet to his left. Maybe at someones shoe. Your shoulders drop. Your expression changes.

“Beautiful.”

He snaps his head up. 

“I- Uh- Like- Passionate! And- I-Inspiring! You know… You do know, right?” You’re doing the hand thing again. It’s getting hard to keep them at your sides. You need a good roll of ducktape. (And some self control.)

Your lips are just slightly parted. You try to look sincere, and you are. You want him to know he wasn’t stupid to get passionate about a subject. Just from the look he has now, you think you know why he was so quiet. Has he been pushed around? Is he here on a scholarship? You know most people here don’t like scholarships. How dare they work hard and get good grades while you paid for this. You really don’t hope he’s been given a hard time. He’s intelligent as hell. Just based off of today you think he might be doing the best in your class. That is. If he participated more.

“I…” He shakes his head and steps back. You want to follow. You can see the red tint on his darkened cheeks. “I need to go.” When he turns to stepside away from you, you just barely step towards him. He flinches again, stumbles, and ducks between bookshelves to get away. You don’t follow. You just watch him go.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this beautiful picture](http://holyshitdragonage.tumblr.com/post/113433752791/) which I evidentally found out is for fanart of my favourite works so I'm just gonna recomment [Wicked Grace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1934703/chapters/4178580) while I'm here. Anyways, my beta is cringing at the title. This is what I get for making an English major my beta.
> 
> This starts short. I'm not sure if the chapters will stay small or not. The whole thing shouldn't span longer than 3 or 4 chapters of roughly the same size. It's going to stay small, though, or I'll never finish it, trust me.
> 
> (Chapter 2 is in progress but I'm at a road block at the moment. It'll come.)


End file.
